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“Get back in position, keep your hands on the couch and ASS UP!”I whimpered and muttered and received a crack on my right thigh. “What?” He challenged.“Yes Danny” I gulped. He cracked the belt against my jeans a couple more times.“How many was that slut?I balked. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too nervous. He didn’t tell me to count. Should I count the other spanks? The blow to my thigh? Oh god I had no idea…I took a guess“4?”“You don’t know?”I gulped, I knew what that meant, starting over. I regrettfully answered “No Danny”“Ok, we start over” I groaned hearing the actual words, thank god he didn’t get too far before he count checked me.I started counting in my head as he began again. The strokes were slow but were coming in solid whacks. I was wincing a little. He got to ten before he asked again “How many slut?”“Ten” I answered confidently.“And what do you say, slut?”“Thank you Danny” I whimpered.The next ten were harder and I was getting really uncomfortable, starting. "I love you, Johnny." Jeff stared down at her. "Whothe fuck is Johnny?" Her eyes slowly closed and her armsfell limply away from her throat. An odor spread through the room as Joey's bladder released its contents and she drew one last breath. Blood continued to trickle out of her mouth. Jeff stood and stared down at hersprawled body. She was dead. He wasn't just a rapist. He was amurderer. "Oh crap," he muttered. 25. His mind worked quickly, never questioning why he was murderer, just accepting that something had to be done. Quickly, he went into the bathroom and washed off Joey's blood. He got dressed. He knew the theater still had a shovel from last season's production of Hamlet and he ran to the scene shop and grabbed it. As he turned to leave, he saw aPolaroid camera sitting on a counter. It was the camera used to take back stage cast pictures. Jeff stared at it. He was going to bury Joey. He knew heshould convince himself she had left town, that this was all just a dream. But.
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What’s your name?’ When I don’t speak, Juirly opens my dresser and begins going through my things. I realize silent won’t work. ‘My name’s Angela,’ I begin, ‘but -‘ ‘Mimsy told me to call you Angel,’ she says. ‘She wanted me to come over and explain why you should want to be well.’ ‘So Ms. Dorazon can cure me?’ I ask. ‘No. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t cured. The hospital wouldn’t let that happen. But you probably weren’t ever well.’ ‘Ms. Dorazon can make me well?’ ‘No. But she will release you from here when she thinks she has.’ Juirly has finished with the top two of four dresser drawers. Finding nothing of interest she turns to lie down on my bed. I am still standing by the window. I turn and sit at the table. ‘Are you well?’ I ask. She closes her eyes, and I watch her sleep until dinner time. Mimsy has cooked a feast. A country feast, which would be my least favorite kind. Fried chicken, garlic mashed potatoes bathing in butter, melting robin eggs with blue pupils, chilled.

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